Do Not Disturb
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Rodney pushes fate by ignoring the sign. RodneySheppard friendship story.


**Do Not Disturb**

By

Stealth Dragon

Rating – K+

Disclaimer – I do not own Stargate Atlantis, and am not in the mood to add on anything clever sounding.

Synopsis – Rodney pushes fate by ignoring the sign. Rodney/Sheppard friendship story. No slash as I have a restraining order against it which allows me to shoot any slash that comes within fifty feet.

Spoilers – Irresistible.

A/N: Sometimes thinking about sleep helps me to fall asleep, which led to this story. It's one that's been silently drifting in documents, searching for an ending. It really does help to step back from a story for a time, then go back and read it over.

SGA

Rodney stared at the sign on the door as though staring long enough would make it burn away. He fiddled with his hands, rubbing them together, then rubbing his palms on the side of his pants, then wringing them together.

The sign was a stupid piece of lined paper with the words 'do not disturb by order of Dr. Beckett' scribbled in black marker. Any other day Rodney would have ignored the sign. Rodney's goal was important. That seemingly useless bit of Ancient tech that lit up to interchange between pretty color after pretty color had a use after all. Rodney had stumbled upon it's use during a less than busy day that allowed him to surf the ancient database for the simple purpose of killing time, and there the device popped up along with schematics and a synopsis of its purpose. Basically, it was a diagnostic tool and the colors acted as a sort of mechanical mood ring indicating what type of repair was going to be needed (there was a color code with the schematics).

Rodney was anxious for a test drive of the device as there was plenty of technology in Atlantis that needed a diagnosis. But Rodney had made the mistake of letting Sheppard keep the previously useless 'toy,' since Rodney believed all the flashing colors would distract the Colonel enough to keep him out of everyone's hair during the weekend. Now the device was a prisoner in John's quarters that had become a cesspool of potential infection.

Rodney wiped his mouth and glanced around nervously. He really, _really_ wanted that device, verging on the point of inciting Carson's wrath the longer he stood there debating over the worth of inciting Carson's wrath. Any other day, Rodney wouldn't have thought twice. Also any other day, Rodney would have waltzed right in by now, not caring what beauty nap he snapped Sheppard from.

Any other day but today, when Carson had pulled Rodney aside and declared that under no circumstance was Sheppard to be disturbed, stating that the man had been through enough already. The last time Rodney had seen that kind of malice in Carson was... was... okay it was the last time Rodney barged in on the Colonel when he was trying to rest, and that had been in the infirmary. Early physicals had abounded for Rodney only.

The two-for concerning Carson's warning and Rodney's reluctance was guilt. Colonel Sheppard needed rest because he'd gotten sick again. He'd gotten sick again because Rodney had taken advantage of Carson's reluctance to administer the inoculation against Lucius' pheromone, since Carson didn't know how it might affect Sheppard's compromised immune system.

Rodney had been positive that Sheppard was better when he ran his little 'test'. No more sniffing, sneezing, congestion, or husky voice. Yet for all of Rodney's precautions and knowledge concerning diseases, he'd plum forgot that appearances deceived, and most viruses don't go without a fight. John's cold had been diminishing, it hadn't vanished. And Just Rodney's bad luck and John's worse luck that the pheromone had somehow teamed up with the virus and gave it the edge it needed and then some.

Carson's explanation involving the pheromone subduing an already compromised immune system had been long winded and technical. But Rodney got the gist. Immune system sick, made sicker. John sick, made sicker, all Rodney's fault. Bad, bad Rodney.

John's once improving condition had escalated into a lung infection, which then led to pneumonia, which involved lots of coughing, phlegm by the bucket load, an oxygen mask, threats towards Rodney's life, then later tempered down into a severe case of the flu. All the unpleasantness had left John weak as a newborn kitten and just as mangy. Thus the move to his quarters so he could get some rest without being disturbed by the hustle and bustle of the infirmary.

Rodney swallowed. He really, really, _really_ wanted that device, and Carson had said that it would probably be another two days before Sheppard was up and about.

_I won't necessarily be disturbing him, _Rodney justified. _He's probably got the dumb thing on his dresser, using it like a night light. Slip in, grab it, slip out and he'll be none the wiser._ By 'he' Rodney meant Carson. Although he also harbored some trepidation should Sheppard catch him. The man would be doped six ways from Sunday on antibiotics, but antibiotics weren't pain killers and Rodney knew from experience that some antibiotics could make a person unreasonably hostile.

Well, actually, feeling like crap period made people unreasonably hostile.

Rodney wiped his sweaty palms onto his shirt front. He wanted that device to assess the damage of certain consoles and tech that he'd been trying to fix since the day they'd arrived at this city. Plus to also figure out how a couple of mystery pieces functioned without resorting to possibly frying whoever activated the devices. Wasn't the welfare of others justification enough?

_Yes, it is. One would think Carson more appreciative of my attempts to lessen the number of infirmary visitors. _

_Just walk in, snatch, and run. None the wiser, none the wiser at all._

Rodney took a deep, bolstering breath, ignored the sign, and willed the door open with a nervous thought.

The doors opened, Rodney rushed inside, and the doors closed. There was enough light from John's curtained windows to distinguish shapes: John's junk, John's bed, John a lump beneath his covers, but more importantly John's dresser just to Rodney's right. Rodney grinned and turned. His knee made contact with something hard and chair shaped. He gritted his teeth to hold back a groan of pain and clutched his knee, hobbling for a bit until the pain diminished from needing to cry out to needing to swear profusely. He glared at the chair wishing nothing but death and destruction for the stupid inanimate object. Thoroughly appeased with his vindication, Rodney moved on to the dresser. His eyes had adjusted enough to pick out the individual items on the dresser top – a few photos, bottle of water, ipod, some CDs, a few DVDs, a radio, a rubber ball, slightly larger Nerf ball, deck of cards, some sort of device that was a metal frame and a large rubber band... _crap, a slingshot, what the hell!_

But no shiny, glowy device. Rodney groped over the scattered items, moving them around to see if the device was buried under them, and his hand landed in something rather slimy and gelatinous.

Rodney grimaced. _Hair gel?_ He pushed back his disgust to further explore this odd goop. Not really a gel or slime, just kind of slimy, but almost solid, like puddy like...

_Duh, Silly Puddy. _Just one kind of goo in John's collection of goo from Playdough to Gak that he used primarily to scare the snot out of the biologists. Ever since the iratus bug, then later the iratus mutation, John had had a bit of a falling out with the overly eager and overly desperate for a blood sample biologists – entomologists especially. Rodney would never admit at _his_ own insistence for most of the pranks. Damn biologists were always holding up expeditions over some stupid little insect no bigger than a flea or some neon colored fungus. Dr. Henrik nearly had kittens over the mold on a sandwich Rodney had left in the lab. Then he'd found the green semi-transparent goo Sheppard had 'mistakenly' left behind oozing off a counter top like a living entity. Rodney bit back a chuckle. Dr. Henrik had really put the _eek_ in geek that day...

Back to the quest at hand, Rodney's hand encountered nothing remotely resembling the device he was seeking, and he froze in alarm.

"Sheppard, damnit!" he hissed, then cringed looking straight toward the lump beneath the covers that was Sheppard. The Colonel didn't even flinch.

Rodney relaxed to the point of easing out of his wince while remaining tense enough to bolt at the first shift in Sheppard's form. He moved gingerly to Sheppard's desk where his laptop, PDA, and plastic can of Playdough sat. Still no device. Rodney gulped. That left the small table by John's bed.

Rodney turned and stepped forward. His foot snagged something soft that seemed to take on a life of its own and tangle around both feet and ankles. Rodney croaked in alarm when he became momentarily weightless as he started to fall. His hands grappled and clawed through thin air before one latched onto the accursed chair, turning the face plant into a mere descent onto his knees. Rodney hissed when his already wounded knee cracked into the solid floor.

"_Damnit!" _he squeaked. His eyes shot straight to the bed and its motionless mound of a human being.

Rodney reached down and grabbed his attacker yanking it off his ankles. He brought it close to his face turning the wad of cloth then opening it up.

A T-shirt. Rodney threw it to the floor in disgust. Using the offensive chair, he hauled himself back to his feet and limped closer to John's bedside table. Rodney discerned a box of tissues, wads of tissue, a water bottle, bottles of pills, and what Rodney guessed to be a small plastic plate with a possibly petrified sandwich sporting three crescent bite shapes along the edge.

No device. Rodney curled his lip in a frustrated sneer. He moved closer toward the table, craning his neck to see over the box of tissues. His foot set down on something long, flat, and wheeled to flip up and bruise his shin with its sharp edge. Rodney doubled grabbing his assaulted leg, snarling and cursing internally while merely gritting his teeth externally. He slowly, carefully, lifted his foot until the object touched quietly to the floor. With a shove of his foot, Rodney sent Sheppard's attack skateboard rolling harmlessly beneath the bed.

John's room was out to kill him. Rodney wouldn't have been surprised if Sheppard had set his room up as an obstacle course. Or maybe it was Carson, taking the 'do not disturb' sign a step further than just a sign. A second sign should have been added below the first; 'enter at your own risk should you ignore above sign'. then a third; 'I warned you'. This room was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Doubled over as he was, in the dim blue-shaded light of the room, Rodney was able to see John's glaringly pale, thin, sunken-eyed face, or at least the upper half starting at the bridge of his nose. His sleep didn't look particularly peaceful the way the muscles twitched and his forehead would bunch then smooth. Rodney moved a little closer without realizing it, wondering if Sheppard was dreaming, maybe entering some nightmare he would need to be pulled from.

The closer proximity revealed to Rodney Sheppard huddled as small and tight as his long frame would allow. He was also shivering. It was minor to be nearly imperceptible, but betrayed by John's quiet yet unsteady breathing. The quaking breaths made Rodney more aware of the slight vibrating of the one dangling corners of the blanket, and the twitching of the more wispy hairs at the top of his head.

John was cold. It explained why he had yet to move. If he was asleep then he was doing a good job of ignoring being cold. If he wasn't asleep then he was too exhausted and too busy trying to accumulate warmth to pay attention to Rodney's ruckus. Rodney had been on enough overnight missions with John to know that it only took an exaggerated sigh to make the Colonel snap awake and start searching for a weapon.

Either way, it was wrong. Horribly, despicably, cruelly wrong. Where the hell were the extra blankets? Why wasn't the room warmer? Sheppard was going to get sick again if he wasn't warm enough.

Rodney chewed his lip then nodded with sudden resolve. He straightened, turned, and picked his way through the chaos back to the door. He didn't waste time checking to make sure the hall was clear. He walked right on out and made his way with single minded intent to what passed as the laundry mat in this city.

The Ancients may have been brilliant but seemed to be lazy about certain 'kinds' of technology, such as washing machines. They might as well be earth washing machines, using water, and detergent – earth detergent. Apparently, the Ancients had taken their detergent with them. Rodney passed the wall where the washers and driers were embedded, straight on back to the closets full of towels, sheets, and blankets. He pulled five blankets off one of the shelves, turned, and headed out. Only to back step and gather the blankets into one arm, freeing up his right hand in order to jot his name down on the clipboard hanging on the wall, and place a five in the square of the column under blankets. He was not putting up with another week of dirty boxers for the sake of a few missing blankets.

Rodney marched back to Sheppard's quarters and entered without compunction. He was assaulted by the chair, this time in the other knee. He shoved it away with a curse on all of John's stuff. A shoe attempted to trip him up, so he kicked it away. He set the blankets on the floor, unfolding them and draping them over Sheppard one by one. He tucked them carefully around the balled up body, avoiding contact and ensuring there were no gaps.

John didn't uncurl. He did stop shivering. Rodney's eyes adjusted letting him see Sheppard's face in the pale light. It boggled Rodney's mind how someone who was sleeping could look so bone-deep exhausted.

Rodney's gut twisted. It had just been a joke, a little fun, a harmless experiment, a way to get him to loosen up. Sheppard been giving everyone the silent treatment since the pheromone's affects on everyone else had worn off. Sometimes he'd up and smirk for no reason, but other than that kept a tight lip unless he had military matters to discuss. He'd been building up to the teasing, everyone knew it. Why else all the smirking? He'd been gearing up for one hell of a ribbing that would have ended either in his death or everyone digging a hole to crawl into.

Or maybe he'd just been really, really annoyed, waiting to use the dirt he had on everyone as blackmail.

Then again, maybe he'd just been tired. He'd look tired. Tired and jumpy, especially around Ronon. The guy had stunned him after all, then hauled him back to Atlantis like a rag doll. Rodney wondered if Sheppard had started coming around right about the time Ronon had kicked him.

Rodney's heart skipped a few beats. Sheppard had probably been coming around when _he'd_ kicked him. It hadn't been a hard kick...

Rodney felt like utter scum. He looked at the barely touched sandwich, the pills, and wads of tissue. The smothering silence amplified the soft wheeze of John's breathing. John had been wheezing louder than that while mopping Rodney's bedroom floor. It wasn't until Sheppard started coughing hard enough to eject a lung that Rodney called it quits and dragged Sheppard's skinny, ailing carcass to the infirmary.

It had just been a joke.

Rodney reached out and placed his hand lightly on Sheppard's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said.

John didn't wake up. He did loosen, shifting slightly to uncurl from the tight fetal position that would have left every muscle and bone in his body stiff and sore. Rodney removed his hand and straightened.

The device was on the small table on the other side of Sheppard's bed, next to the picture of John as a boy and that famous stunt man, Evil something. All Rodney had to do was reach over the bed and grab it. John wouldn't wake up. He hadn't yet, and definitely wouldn't now buried under all that warmth.

Rodney stuck his hands into his pockets, turned, and stepped over the junk to head out the door. He could get it later, when John was awake.

The End

A/N: This ending kind of surprised me. My original intent had been for Rodney to end up with the device, either finding it in a strange place or having John hand it over. But the story went else where and I followed. Personally, I like this ending better, don't know why.

I purposely left out Keneival's name as Rodney doesn't strike me as the type impressed by stuntmen.


End file.
